


Connie die Freischutze

by KriegsaffeNo9



Category: Steven Universe (Cartoon)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Shooting Guns, Songfic, Training
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-24
Updated: 2018-04-24
Packaged: 2019-04-27 03:11:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14416422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KriegsaffeNo9/pseuds/KriegsaffeNo9
Summary: Translated: "Connie the Sharpshooter"What If... Pearl was a riflegem, and taught Connie how to shoot?  A brief AU treatment of "Sworn to the Sword."





	Connie die Freischutze

Connie squinted at the grub trying to wriggle free of Pearl's tweezers. "So... in my ear. And it's still alive?"

"Yes, if it's not alive it can't fix your eardrums for you." Pearl cupped her hand around the spiky, shiny worm. Connie swore she could hear it from here, making little hateful little noises. "And with one of these in each ear, you'll never have to worry about hearing loss again. It's very convenient, or so I'm told."

Connie closed her eyes and lay her head on the pillow. "Let's get it over with."

"That's the spirit." Pearl put her hand on Connie's cheek. "Here we go. One, two..." Connie tensed. "I'm going to need you to keep more still, Connie. Can you do that for me?"

"Yeah, I can," she said, biting her lip and tensing up as hard as she could. Couldn't get out of position if she were out of position as hard as she could, right? ... right?

"One, two..." And it was in her ear, wet and hot and spiky, and she screamed into the pillow and grabbed at her ear, feeling wet, hot fluid flow out of it. It's in me, it's breaking my ears, I'm gonna go deaf, oh God it's--

The heat became a warmth. She could feel it in there--feel it press against her eardrum--but there was something else to it. It felt a little more normal. After a few minutes she could barely realize it was there, if she didn't concentrate on feeling where it had anchored into her ear.

"Turn around, Connie..." Pearl said, gently nudging her shoulder. "Not so bad, right?"

"No, it's not," Connie said, though it had definitely been so bad in those first few moments. The second grub wasn't any better, but she knew it would go normal this time--that was how she thought of it, "go normal"--and thus after a few moments it was so. She lay on her back, feeling wet fluid pour out of her ear, and she felt completely normal. Mostly normal.

"And you're done," Pearl said, patting Connie's head. "Are you okay?"

"...Yeah. I think so." She sat up. "Steven! It's okay to come in!"

Steven had been hiding downstairs. He peered up from the staircase, eyes wide and wet. "Did you make it, Connie?"

"Oh, no, I was eaten alive by worms and this is my new monster form," Connie said. "...But really, I'm fine!"

The look of panic fled Steven's face and was replaced by delight. "Wow! That's so cool!" He bounded over to his bed and hopped in next to her. "It was super weird, right? I got it when I was five and it was super weird feeling, you know? And I really didn't wanna see it 'cause lemme tell ya, it took me like an hour to get even the first one in."

Connie giggled. "It was scary, yeah. I mean--"

"INCOMING!" shouted Amethyst, and the flashbang went off.

She was blind for a long, terrifying moment, but she was deaf for nowhere near that long. "Very funny," Connie said. When her sight returned Pearl was stomping out a burgeoning fire the flashbang started on Steven's floor.

"Huh, she only used one this time!" Steven said. "When I got mine in she threw in six. She called it a Chinese fire drill."

"I bet she did," Connie said.

Pearl threw the still-hot flashbang down at Amethyst, who was still laughing. Literally lying on the floor laughing her ass off, bringing to life an ancient acronym. "Ugh." She took deep breaths, centered herself. "Alright. Connie, are you ready to learn?"

"I am!" she said.

"Yeah, me too!" Steven said, starry-eyed.

"Very well. Follow me."

* * *

Pearl set the case on the smooth tiled floor of the coliseum--it looked like a coliseum to Steven, anyway--and unlatched it with a flick of her thumbs. The case creaked as she raised it. Nested in black fabric was a plain, rugged rifle, stored assembled, with a wooden stock and hand guard and an off-set carrying handle near the guard. Three magazines and a box of ammunition were set in niches beneath the gun.

Pearl pursed her lips as she pulled the gun free, holding it up for both the kids to see. "A _Fabrique Nationale Fusil Automatique Léger_ ♪!" she said. "'Light automatic rifle,' in English." She tilted the gun about. "A semi-automatic model. Simply flip the switch here from 'safe' to 'fire' and you're ready to go. One pull of the trigger, one bullet fired, simple as that."

Connie reached for the weapon, but Pearl handed her an empty magazine. "First, we'll get you acquainted with the magazine. You'll be going through a lot of these today."

Steven watched Connie press one bullet at a time into the magazine, licking her lips as she did so. He leaned in close, and smelled oil and cold metal and (Connie) other stuff. It was pretty high up, it felt. Could be a lot of things he was smelling. Pearl showed her how to tell how many rounds were in the mag, and how many it could hold.

"There!" Pearl said. "Now, there's this part." Connie hopped to her feet and held out her hands, palms up, and Pearl set the weapon in her hands. It was heavy, or heavier than it looked in Pearl's spindly hands.

"Wow," Connie said, admiring the heft of the gun, trying to nest it in her shoulder. Pearl pressed her elbow down, de-shouldering it, and took Connie by the shoulder and pushed her forward, towards the center of the arena. She faced Connie towards the empty stands. She jogged over to Steven and carried him back with her, setting him right behind Connie.

"Hi!" Steven said.

"For safety purposes," she said. "Now..." She pirouetted, briséd, tumbled and landed in an Arabesque, and projected a few wan Holopearls in the stands.

"LEVEL: ZERO. TARGET: SET!" the Holopearls said. In sync they sat in the stands, backs ramrod straight, bullseyes appearing on their gems. " _FIRE WHEN YOU ARE READYYYYYYY_!"

"Oh, you bet I will," Connie said, shouldering her rifle, the muzzle bouncing gently as she swung it into the edge of a shield. "Huh?"

"Oh! Whoops." Steven dismissed the bubble. "Sorry. Reflex. Heheh. You know how it do."

It took her a moment, but she remembered, and she nodded. "Right. Let's do this." And Pearl was of course on her immediately, kneeling, grabbing her legs and arranging her feet into the right position.

"Everything... begins... with your stance." She rose higher, bit by bit, correcting Connie's posture.

"Will I really remember this when I'm fighting?" Connie said.

"No, you won't. But you won't need to." Hands over Connie's hands, her breath soft and measured against Connie's hair, she set the rifle in her grip just so, stock against her shoulder just so, finger on the trigger guard, left hand grasping the wooden furniture just so. "With enough practice, you won't ever have to think about your lessons. Your hands will remember for you, your legs and shoulders and hips, your eyes, and the little wet thing in your head that tells you when it's alright to fire."

"...So the grubs will..." Connie said.

"Your brain. I mean your brain, pardon," Pearl said. "I got carried away there for a moment, sorry. Ahem!" She let go of Connie at last, sidled back a few steps. "Take your aim!"

Connie remembered the very basics--line the rear notch with the front post, squeeze the trigger (or was it pull the trigger?), and wait a minute, this was more like a round thing in the back and a sort of crown up front...

She spent half a minute trying to figure the ins and outs of the sight. When she and Steven took on the floating fireball robot head... thing... the ancient gem shotgun she'd used just had a brilliant white bead at the end of the barrel, which she pointed at incoming fireballs and fired away. This felt more complex, somehow. "Pearl...?" she said.

"Ah--right! Line up the wings so they're flush with the three and nine o' clock positions of the sight, and what you'll hit is at the center post. Easy, right?"

The front post between the wings was now set more or less on the bullseye of one of the Holopearls in the stands. Connie took a deep breath, looped her finger onto the trigger, and squeezed. There was a shockingly loud pop, and a less-loud ping, and the Holopearl was marred a little down and to the right of the bullseye. "GOOD SHOT TAKEN!" the Holopearl said. "DO NOT GIVE UP IN YOUR QUEST TO BE THE BEEEEEEST AT SHOOTING!"

By the time the Holopearls fell silent, the ringing in her ears had fallen silent as well. "So... it's disgusting... but useful."

"You could say that," Pearl said. "Rose Quartz was always of two minds. It is an art, but it is an art of war. It is worth learning, and worth mastering, so that you don't have to do it any more than you must."

"I meant the... right." Connie smiled. "So, that was the first shot."

"Of many," Pearl said, "but hopefully, not too many more." She stroked Connie's hair. "You do it for him, and you would do it again. You do it for her--that is to say..." She pulled back, straightening Connie's glasses. "You do it for him."

"Keep your stance square, keep your shoulder lowered... as you squeeze the trigger, keep your grip se-cure..."

"Drop mag. Load mag. Pull the charging handle--

"And as you're advancing, keep both eyes open."

Over the next week Connie advanced from plinking still Holopearls while standing still and with Pearl hovering behind her to shooting moving targets, leading her shots, dealing with windage. The wind could be fierce and strange up here.

"Keep my stance square," Connie said, nailing a Holopearl in the chest.

"Good!" Pearl said.

"Keep my shoulders lowered..." One Holopearl in the stomach, another in the chest, and she was dry.

"Right!" Pearl said, her thumb moving reflexively.

"As I'm moving forward--" One of the Holopearls leaped from the stands. Her mag clattered to the floor, and somehow the next was refusing to come out of her pocket.

"Concentrate! Don't you want him to live?!" Pearl said, Connie stumbling back, falling flat on her ass as the Holopearl advanced, pulling a rapier on her.

"Drop mag, load mag..." Connie said, stuffing the wrong end of the magazine into the well, reversing it.

"Yes, but don't think too hard about it!" Pearl said. She grabbed Steven by the nape of his shirt as he tried to run in. "Everything you have, everything you are--"

Connie yanked back the charging handle and fired one-handed straight up into Holopearl's stomach. It flickered and disappeared, obligingly. It felt like Connie had stuck her arm in a vise and tried to do a backflip. She dropped the gun, where it landed on her stomach, and she took deep, fast breaths.

"--you've got to give," Pearl said, letting Steven finally pull free and run to Connie's side.

"Are you alright?" Steven said, helping Connie sit up.

"I think, yeah," Connie said, trying to raise her arm and being immediately punished for it. "Mmmaybe not so much..."

"That's enough for today," Pearl said, hiking over, giving Steven space to pull Connie to her feet and throw her uninjured arm over his shoulder.

"Come on, soldier, we've gotta get you to medevac! Man down! Man down!" Steven said, marching her back to the telepad. Of course he was doing an accent--or at least a bit.

"Hurt real bad, sarge!" Connie said. "If I don't make it, tell my mom I'm sorry I didn't practice violin more often!"

"Cuss on that noise, soldier! Nobody violins as good as you!"

Pearl picked up the gun, popped the magazine, worked the handle to pop out the round in the chamber. "On the battlefield," she said to herself, "when everything is chaos, and you have nothing but the way you feel, your strategy, and a gun..."

She closed her eyes.

Some days, late at night, alone in her room, she would remember the smell of gemstones melted by plasma, and she would duck behind the nearest cover, draw her solar carbine from her gem, and remember, too late, that it had been tens of thousands of years since anything had shot plasma at her.

Only, now that was more like a month, wasn't it?

And Rose Quartz was not there to stroke her hair with her enormous, powerful, soft hands, to say that the war was done, and she could let her guard down. Nothing was going to shoot at her anymore. She could stop shaking.

The Homeworld had made a liar of Rose.

"You just think about the life you'll have together, when it's done."


End file.
